Maiden of Pain: Forgotten Realms (The Priests)

by Kameron Franklin

  … besides the fact that she was no longer alone in the house.

  Headmistress Yenael stood by the marble fireplace in her buffed leather bodysuit, tapping her palm with the handle of a scourge. Next to her hung Naeros Karanok in nothing but his skin. Chains suspended him above the floor by wrist and ankle. When Ythnel eyes followed the chains up, she saw them disappear into a cloudy, black void that spread out to cover where the ceiling should have been.

  “Show me.”

  Ythnel brought her eyes back down to see Headmistress Yenael holding the end of the scourge handle out to her. Only, it wasn’t the headmistress’s voice Ythnel had heard. It was Iuna’s.

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do.” Headmistress Yenael’s lips moved, but the voice was definitely that of the little girl Ythnel had been hired to care for. “It is your turn, now, Ythnel. Take the scourge. Do not disappoint me.”

  Ythnel didn’t move. It was as if she were thirteen again, back in the dungeons below the manor in Bezantur. The same emotions, the same doubts, threatened to overwhelm her.

  No, this was different, she told herself. This time pain and suffering was deserved. This time she wanted to do it.

  Ythnel reached for the scourge, and it instantly appeared in her hand. She flexed her grip on the handle, feeling the comfort of its weight, the precision of its balance. She bounced it lightly, untangling the leather tongues. Moving to Naeros’s side, Ythnel bent over so her lips brushed against his ear.

  “Let’s play.” She flicked her wrist, and the scourge shot out like lightning. Naeros screamed.

  The constant ringing of a hand bell brought Ythnel’s eyes open with a flutter. She was on her knees, her arms clutched to her chest, rocking back and forth from the waist up. She stopped, disoriented, and tried to get her bearings. Movement in the gloom ahead of her coalesced into the charging form of a large crocodile nearly twenty feet long. Its clawed fleet churned up the bog as it ran toward her. The fog in her mind instantly became crystal clarity. She rocked back on her heels, scooting on her hands and feet in a frantic scramble to get out of the path of the monstrosity that was closing on her, its toothy maw snapping in anticipation. With a hiss, it made a lunge at her, but Ythnel rolled to her left, came to her feet, and sprinted back toward the mages.

  “Wake up! Wake up!” she screamed as she ran. She could see they were already stirring, probably alerted by the alarms Kestus had set. As Ythnel reached them, more scaly, gray-green shapes came slithering out of the murk. Their long, pointy snouts and ridged backs tapered into powerful tails that whipped side to side as they stalked closer.

  “We have to get out of here,” Ythnel ordered. She helped the groggy mages stand and pushed them along ahead of her, away from the approaching crocodiles. “I’ll try to slow them down a little.” Focusing on the switch she still held, Ythnel called out to Loviatar for aid. “Willing Whip, send us help.”

  The air between Ythnel and the pursuing crocodiles began to shimmer. Motes of red light appeared and separated into three different groupings a few inches above the ground. The motes collected until each group was about three feet high; then they began to stretch out and merge. When all the motes in one group had finally merged into a single globe, they faded away to reveal a fiendish-looking rat the size of a dog. Their eyes glowed red and their black, bristly hair stood on end like quills.

  Before Ythnel could utter a command, the three summoned rats launched themselves at the nearest crocodile. One rat was snatched in midair by the monster and crushed with a squeak in the reptile’s powerful jaws. However, as the crocodile tried to swallow the rat, it disappeared in a cloud of red motes that winked out one by one.

  The remaining two rats landed on the back of the crocodile, their claws and teeth seeking purchase amongst the scaly bumps. The crocodile tried to shake them loose, but they were firmly attached. The huge reptile roared in frustration, and his call was answered by two more crocodiles that appeared out of the mists to flank him. With deadly efficiency, the two crocs picked the rats off their fellow’s back, flinging them up into the air and catching them in open mouths. Red motes floated away when their mouths snapped shut.

  Ythnel was stunned. The rats’ losing the battle was not astonishing. She hadn’t expected them to actually defeat any of the crocodiles; they had been meant only to delay the giant reptiles long enough for Ythnel and the mages to escape. What surprised her, and sent a chill down her spine, was the intelligence the crocodiles had exhibited in dispatching the rats. Even now, she thought she could see the gleam of something unnatural in their eyes.

  Now was not the time to ponder the source of that intelligence, however. Ythnel turned to follow the mages and ran right into their backs.

  “What are you doing?” Ythnel looked up and saw three more of the giant crocodiles approaching. They were surrounded. “Painbringer’s touch! What do we do now?”

  “Let me handle this.” Brother Crocodile stepped away from the group, and the crocodiles paused, their heads turning to follow. The tall, lanky mage shuddered and let out a low moan. Ythnel gasped as his nose and chin began to stretch out and widen. His hands and feet bent into wicked claws, while his arms and legs retracted until they were little more than thick stumps protruding from his torso. The mage’s skin mottled, turning from smooth pink to bumpy green. His entire body swelled, the weight seeming to drive him to the ground. As he landed on all fours, a ridged tail grew from his rear, extending more than three feet long.

  “A werecrocodile,” Kestus breathed. “So the stories are true.”

  “What do we do now?” Muctos asked, looking to Kestus.

  Before he could answer, the crocodiles began hissing and coughing at each other. One charged Brother Crocodile, its mouth agape, but the former mage did not back down. He snapped his jaws inches from the challenger’s snout. With a warbling chirp, the challenger backed away, its snout lifted in the air, signaling its surrender. Brother Crocodile turned to Ythnel and the mages and transformed back into a man.

  “Do not be alarmed. These are my brothers.” He looked at each of them, searching. As if on cue, the crocodile that had challenged Brother Crocodile reared up on its hind legs. Its snout began to shorten, and the color of its scales shifted from dark green to pale pink, the rough, bumpy hide becoming smooth. Eyes that were on the side of the head swam to the middle. Arms and legs lengthened, while the tail shrank until it disappeared entirely. In seconds, a lanky, naked man with a thin face dominated by a long nose and chin stood where the scaly monster once was.

  Kestus turned to Brother Crocodile. “Who are you?” Kestus asked.

  “My name is Kohtakah. I am the Royal Sorcerer to Lord Mulkammu, High Priest of Sebek.”

  “What is going to happen to us?” Ythnel asked.

  “My brothers and I will escort you to our city. I promise you will not be harmed.”

  “Why should we believe you?” Kestus sneered.

  “I can understand how you feel. This must seem like I am betraying you, but I am not.”

  “And how is this not a betrayal? You infiltrated us, and now you are handing us over to be taken as prisoners.”

  “No, that is not how it is. I was sent to find help for my people. You will be honored as heroes. You must trust me. Everything will turn out fine.”

  “What if we refuse?” Kestus asked.

  Kohtakah sighed. “I’m afraid you do not have that choice.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Morning brought dull, gray skies and a chill wind that rattled gnarled branches and swirled the fog covering the surface of the brackish, ankle-high water that Ythnel and the mages trudged through. Steered by the werecrocodiles, they had left behind the bogs and now traveled directly across an expanse of liquid filth. Ythnel’s skin had stopped crawling at the oily touch of the water hours ago; extended exposure to the cold had numbed her from the calves down.

  A small splash to her left reminded her that the two werecrocodiles in human form were
not their only escort. Occasionally, she caught glimpses of two bumps, each about the size of an authokh, floating just above the waterline, but usually ripples were the only sign that their captors’ brethren were keeping pace.

  A wave of nausea rolled up from Ythnel’s stomach, and her legs suddenly grew weak. She stumbled into the water face-first but caught herself on her hands and knees before falling fully in. Muctos, who had been marching behind her, stooped to help her up, but she pushed him away.

  “What’s going on?” The werecrocodile who had been at the rear strode up to Ythnel.

  “I’m hungry,” Ythnel said, her head still hanging down. “I haven’t eaten in … I don’t know how long. I’m not going anywhere until I get some food.” She slowly raised her head, defiance in her eyes. Muctos was looking at her with eyes wide. He mouthed something, but she couldn’t understand.

  “You wait here.” The werecrocodile moved to speak with Kohtakah, the mage they had known as Brother Crocodile, at the front of the group.

  “What are you up to?” Muctos asked in a harsh whisper. Before Ythnel could answer, the werecrocodile returned.

  “We don’t stop until we get to the city. You”—He indicated Muctos.—“carry her.” The heavyset mage frowned but helped Ythnel up then turned and offered her his back. She hopped on, looping her arms around his shoulders as he hooked his arms under her knees. The march resumed.

  For the next few hours, Ythnel was passed between the mages; her weight was too much of a burden for any one of them to carry for too long. It slowed the group’s progress until finally Kohtakah brought them to a halt. As though responding to some unseen signal, one of the submerged werecrocodiles reared up in a spray of water and transformed into its human shape. Kohtakah pointed at Ythnel, and the other took her from Muctos, slinging her over its shoulder so that she had a perfect view of his naked rear.

  When the sky began to darken once again, the group found themselves at the edge of the river. Here the current was stronger, the water not as murky. Ythnel could see groupings of trees that marked the far bank several hundred yards away. To the north, an island sat in the mouth of the river. The island was covered in half-sunken ruins. Pillars of dried mud-brick leaned precariously, threatening to topple over and disappear beneath the surface of the swamp. With the crumbling archways and broken walls, it looked to Ythnel like a long-neglected graveyard.

  “Is this your city?” Muctos asked.

  “Yes,” Kohtakah said, either missing or ignoring the obvious incredulity that laced the mage’s question. “We will cross the river here.” The werecrocodile that was carrying Ythnel set her down and proceeded to change back into his reptile form. As the transformation completed, he slithered into the water.

  “How? I don’t see any boats or ferries,” Muctos noted. “You aren’t expecting us to swim across, are you?” Ythnel hoped not. Even in the sluggish current, she knew she didn’t have the strength and would likely get swept out into the bay.

  “No. You will ride on our backs.” Kohtakah made his own transformation and entered the water, where he was joined by three other floating reptilian forms.

  The three captives looked to each other. At least one other of the werecrocodiles still stood guard in human form; who knew how many were lurking just beneath the surface of the swamp, ready to take them in a flurry of scales and teeth. Ythnel was in no shape to run. Besides, if the creatures had wanted to kill them, there had been plenty of opportunities before now. With a shrug, she stood up and waded out to one of the werecrocodiles. It swung around, and Ythnel clambered on, lying across the uncomfortable collection of hard lumps. The mages hesitated for a moment before following suit. Once everyone was loaded, the werecrocodiles pushed out into the river, letting the current take them. Ythnel could feel the powerful strokes of the creature’s tail from where she was positioned, guiding them toward a point of the island where the river split.

  When they were about one hundred feet from the bank of the island, Ythnel spotted movement amongst the nearest ruins. At first, she dismissed it as more werecrocodiles, but as they got closer, she caught glimpses of furry shapes with thin, whiplike tails moving in and out of the shadows on two legs. Whatever they were, the werecrocodiles did not want to meet them, for they began to shift course farther downriver. When the creatures on the island realized they had been spotted, a cry went up, and several of them came out into the open. It was then that Ythnel saw they were some sort of humanoid rat. She wondered if perhaps they were related to the werecrocodiles. The ratmen all carried bows and had them pulled taut, aiming at the werecrocodiles and their passengers. As the group passed by, the ratmen let fly, sending a hail of arrows across the river. Ythnel instinctively clutched at the werecrocodile she was riding, trying to flatten herself as much as possible as the deadly shafts plunked into the water around her. She looked around to see if any of the others had been hit, but a sharp hiss brought her gaze snapping back to find an arrow embedded in the shoulder of her escort, inches from her hand.

  The werecrocodile shuddered and pitched violently, rolling onto its back and throwing Ythnel into the water. She struggled to the surface, coughing and spitting out a mouthful of river. Disoriented, Ythnel thrashed in momentary panic before realizing she could keep herself above water easily by treading in the lazy current. She searched for the others, spotting them just as they rounded the far side of the island and disappeared from view. Somehow, Ythnel had drifted down the west branch of the river after being tossed from the werecrocodile, while the rest of the group continued down the east branch. She waited for one the werecrocodiles to reappear and reclaim her, but no one came.

  A commotion to her left drew her attention back to the near bank of the island, only a few yards away. Several of the ratmen had gathered and were pointing at her, chattering excitedly. It seemed someone had noticed her separation from the group.

  One of the creatures appeared with a jumble of ropes in hand. It twirled them over its head, finally releasing it after building up enough momentum. As the ropes flew out across the river toward Ythnel, they expanded into a weighted net. Dread filled her as the net descended over her, the weights dragging her down under the water. With a sharp tug, the net closed around her, and Ythnel felt herself being pulled toward the bank.

  This was not happening, she screamed to herself. Frustration and rage rose as she once again found herself at someone else’s mercy. But her struggling only served to entwine the net tighter around her. Just as she thought her lungs would explode, she broke the surface and was soon lying in a tangled, muddy pile at the feet of the ratmen. While several arrowheads were pointed threateningly at her, one of the ratmen unwrapped Ythnel from the net.

  “Why were you with the werecrocodiles? Who are you?”

  “My name is Ythnel. I was a prisoner, along with my friends.”

  “Why did they capture you?”

  “Probably for food.” A ratman holding a bow chuckled.

  “I’m feeling a little hungry, myself,” another called out.

  “No! No, they were taking us to their city because we are wizards,” Ythnel protested. Several of the ratmen hissed, but Ythnel wasn’t sure if it was in response to the werecrocodiles’ claim to the city or that she and her friends were wizards.

  “You will come with us,” the ratman who had netted her commanded. He motioned for her to stand and led the group into the ruins.

  They moved steadily inland, weaving through abandoned towers and half-built dwellings. From the many piles of unused materials that still lay at the base of some of the structures, Ythnel was beginning to think the city had more likely been left uncompleted rather than succumbing to time and the elements.

  “Where are we going?” Ythnel sidestepped a two-foot-long rat that scurried from the shadows of a doorway to glare at her with undisguised malevolence.

  “We are taking you to our village.”

  “So you share this island with the werecrocodiles? Did they build all this? Or wer
e you here first?”

  “Yes, the werecrocodiles built this, but we were here first. The werecrocodiles came from the east and tried to re-create their home, using the power of their god to enslave us. Something happened not long ago, and their god disappeared. We rose up and fought them, eventually freeing ourselves.

  “They no longer try to build; the territory each side controls keeps shifting. For now, they occupy the north half of the island, while we live on the south.”

  Ythnel nodded at the ratman’s reply. Its mention of the disappearance of the werecrocodiles’ god stirred an early memory from her childhood at the manor. The temple had been filled with panicked sisters and hushed whispers that Loviatar had abandoned her followers, been cast out of the planes, or had even been killed. In time, things had returned to normal, but Ythnel now wondered if perhaps these two events were somehow related.

  Unfortunately, her curiosity would have to go unsatisfied. There were more immediate concerns to deal with.

  They reached the ratmen’s village just before nightfall. In the fading light, Ythnel began to notice lean-tos erected against unfinished walls. Midden heaps inhabited several of the roofless buildings they passed, assailing Ythnel’s nose with their ever-present stench. A crowd of onlookers began to form behind the group, following them as they neared what Ythnel guessed to be the center of the camp. The growing entourage consisted of males and females, most in the rat form of her escorts, but there were one or two who appeared human. So, they are werecreatures as well, Ythnel concluded.

  The wererats stopped before a building whose walls completely enclosed its interior. What appeared to be a curtain of hide hung in the doorway, and a thatch roof sat atop the walls. The lead wererat entered the dwelling while everyone else waited outside. The area in front of the building was well trod and muddy. A pot of something unwholesome-smelling stewed atop a small cook fire nearby. Ythnel’s stomach gurgled at the thought of food, unconcerned with how unappealing whatever was being served might be.